


The Pedigree of A Mutt

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Marauders' Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2011-06-24
Packaged: 2019-01-19 08:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12406665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Jolene Isobel Dedalus was the darling of Pure Blood society, the perfect Slytherin, everything her family ever wanted her to be. But in this society, nothing is as it seems. When the disowned Black heir uncovers a secret, Isobel's world is torn apart. What if one of the old family heirs isn't a pure blood, but a mutt?





	1. Prologue: A Brief History

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

  
Author's notes: 1  


* * *

"In this world there are some things that are just not to be done,". That is what Jolene Isobel Gallagher was told by her maternal grandmother the day her Mother's family took her in. It was also the day they changed her name, and the day her parents died. She was four, and most children should probably not be able to remember such words due to age and circumstance. The newly christened Isobel Dedalus however did remember these words, if only due to her own confusion.

Jo (as her late Father had affectionately called her, but would not be a name uttered again for twelve more years) did not quite understand which world Grandmother meant. Her Mother and Father had often used magic around the flat, regardless of living in a muggle neighborhood. Jolene Isobel Gallagher-Dedalus had always been told to be very careful in talking about many things with the nice people that lived in the building, and to be even more careful of anyone who would understand these many things, that she did not know. Jolene Isobel knew about the world of magic which both of her parents had come from, even if she was not allowed to ever go to Diagon Ally or any other magical establishment. So she didn't believe Grandmother to mean that world, but in her mind those were the only worlds she knew. Separated simply, as if by an actual line on a page, there was the Muggle World and there was the Magical World.

As Jolene Isobel grew up, eventually letting go of her father's name, the name on the buzzer to her old muggle flat, and refusing to answer to the unbecoming name given to her at birth and any of it's childish derivatives, she grew to understand her Grandmother's words. There were many worlds, however some were of no importance, and only one truly mattered. The muggle world, her faint memories of it near erased by the many teas shared with her family, was of absolutely no importance to them, and should not be to anyone else. There was a definite line, if not drawn or made or built, but paid for in blood or insults, separating them from crossing over into the right world, their world of Pure Blood and high society. Occasionally people crossed, things became messy and improper, but it was dealt with quietly, with the slip of money, or a whispered order or perhaps even the swish-flick of a wand bearing forth a single singed hole. These actions are what easily defined Jolene Isobel Dedalus' perfectly ordered, proper and, in her eyes, near sanctimonious world.

 

Elyse Dedalus had been the golden child of the Dedalus family. Yes, she was a girl and unable to carry on the name, and perhaps she was a bit more passionate than was fitting for an heir of such a bloodline, but she was doted on by her parents and adored by the creme of their society. She had grown up to be the sweetheart (or a more wicked, less sniveling equivalent) of the Slytherin House, with startling marks, which were never mentioned, and beautiful looks, manners, and charm, which were always praised. That is until she became head girl and shockingly (or perhaps cliched if you spoke to her daughter thirty-three years later) fell for the head boy, a simple muggle born from Carlisle. When news of Elyse's behavior reached her family, it was decided publicly that it could be worse, for the boy was a Ravenclaw and luckily not a Hufflepuff or more terrible. Privately however, Elyse was disowned and the quiet threats forced her and John Gallagher to retreat to the sanctuary of a muggle existence.

John took over running a market in Eden, close enough to his childhood home to easily adjust, while staying out of the obvious danger. Elyse adjusted surprisingly well, working at a small pub round the corner from their flat. Eventually they had a child, a girl, whom they loved deeply. Never a night went by where Elyse did not cook her a loving meal, bathe her and then quietly read to her until John came home. John would tuck her into bed singing, usually some riotous pub song that had her mother scolding him every night as she flicked her wand to extinguish the lights. They took her to the seaside, to films and always had a huge Christmas tree to make up for the lack of presents and of family. They cared for their daughter more so than Elyse had ever been cared for as a child, as they were both determined to do. They cared for her until she was four, and they were killed in what was apparently a random crime that miraculously spared their daughter. They never married, and so Jolene Isobel was passed on to the mother's closest living relatives: her parents.

Prosper Dedalus and his wife, Catharina-Amalia took in their young granddaughter. Yes, she was the daughter of their disowned heir, and she also was a half-blood, but there were ways around this, seeing as the benefits outweighed the trouble. Elyse had been the last remaining Dedalus; the last to be born, the last to attend Hogwarts, the last to be married into a similar and approved family. Then this tiny girl, who was charming and delicate, with the looks belonging and befitting the Dedalus name was dropped into their lives.

Their daughter had not been heard of within the magical world since she was seventeen. Elyse had never married that mudblood, and there was no way of knowing (though they were positive) that the girl was the daughter of John Gallagher from Carlisle. If the Dedalus family couldn't be sure, than neither could anyone else in their world. And so Jolene Isobel was brought into their house, their family, their society and taught to forget the bustling Eden streets, her mother's home cooked meals and her father's inappropriate songs. She was a Dedalus, everything they thought her mother was and couldn't be. They spent more time on manners and proper etiquette with her than with her mother, hoping to squash out any remaining bad taste from her father. They also hoped that the extra attention would stop history from repeating itself with their little second chance.

They should have known of course, that anyone who forgets their own past is doomed to repeat it.  


	2. The Biggest Lie

Jolene Isobel Dedalus stood towards the center, in easy sight of the entrance of one of the vacant dungeon rooms of Hogwarts Castle. Tonight however, the room was not vacant in the least. The couches conjured at her request lined the walls for much of the room, the only breaks were that of the freshly cleaned and polished fireplaces, twinkling with the light of a magic blue green fire. _Drift wood fire._ Jolene

Isobel Dedalus (often called Belle by her closest of female friends) shook this strange thought out of her head. She had obviously never seen a drift wood fire, as none of their group would go to a common seashore, and even so, conjuring fire was much easier. Belle glanced casually around the room, admiring how thenight had come together just as she desired.

She noted many of her friends and acquaintances gracefully settled back against the cushions of the various couches, while some stood in quite conversations or tasted the refreshments laid out in the beautiful room. People were still filtering in and out of the door casually as the hours continued. Belle was secretly glad when there seemed to be a slight ebb in the flow of arrivals. She was perfectly content now to sip on her glass of champagne and smile at Felix Nott when it suited her. Belle took a deeper swallow than she probably should have when Felix made to touch her hand. Honestly, the boy was insufferable, boring, and two years below her. She vaguely wondered where his older brother Theodore had wondered off to, near praying he’d come save her. Theodore, on top of being the eldest child of the Nott’s and therefore their heir, was smart, driven, mysteriously charming as well as handsome. Belle could feel near murderous at having to put up with Felix than instead of his older brother. That was not the case with the next person to wander through the door.

Belle, only out of her manners, stayed rooted to her carefully planned spot in the center of the floor, staring at the shining dark head that had just ducked into her affair. Though her eyes had first widened in wonder and surprise, they narrowed now at the audacity of it, of him. Her lips she felt twisted into a grimace before  
she could control it. Belle thought briefly of Lucius Malfoy, the Head Boy and good family friend. She had always been fascinated with his ability to control if not his emotions than certainly anything that would give them away. Belle smiled grimly remembering Easter Holidays when Lucius constantly tested her limits just to prove that she need to improve her control. He was right of course. Belle suffered constantly from having to bite back caustic remarks, or loud laughter. Or in this  
case, glaring at Sirius Black as he shrugged off his casual suit jacket and hung it on one of the racks by the door.

“Felix,” she gritted out the name as pleasantly as possible, trying to regain enough control to smile at him politely.

“Would you please excuse me? I have to attend to some…guests,” she decided that was the best way to describe what she wished to do to Black. Felix acquiesced with a smile and a shallow bow of his head before slithering (there really was no other way to describe the way some of her Housemates moved) away to bother someone else. Belle gripped the stem of her champagne flute a little too tightly and turned back towards the entrance.

Sirius Black made his way towards her, his simple, elegant strides for some reason seeming too casual for this moment, this gathering, this anything. It irritated her, but only because… well she didn’t know why. Many things about the elder Black irritated her, which was a common feeling towards him among her friends, but none of them mentioned his elegant gate as their reason.

Belle studied him, possibly more freely than she ought to, but she hadn’t been able to really study him since last summer, and even then she had hardly paid attention to just another Pure Blood Heir forced to attend dinners and balls. She attempted to shake these thoughts out of her head with only a slight dip in her eyelashes and went back to watching his final steps towards her. He had let his hair grow longer, she noted, and it was hardly as neat as was fitting. A dark strand slipped over one of his dark grey eyes. He looked wonderful.

Belle could hardly contain her surprise over that thought. It was true of course; it always had been, since they were younger. But she shouldn’t be noticing it, or admitting it now.

She let her strange, light eyes meet his as he stopped a few feet in front of her. One of his arms was already behind his back as he, like Nott dipped his head in a shallow bow. Unlike Nott though, Sirius looked so natural, the strain of his tucked arm completely unnoticeable, the stiffness of such an archaic gesture hardly showing. Belle was nearly envious of his unconscious grace, as she was with Lucius’ self control. She should possess those qualities too, instead of depending so much on practice. Belle blinked when Sirius raised a mocking brow at her and she remembered the present. Hastily, but with practiced ease, she moved her body into the lightest curtsey, before offering her hand mechanically.

Sirius reached out and touched her hand lightly, but didn’t lift it to his lips. After a few seconds, Belle widened her eyes at him and carefully, slid his hand out of his. She didn’t want to admit that she was embarrassed by the open insult. Sirius, as though sensing the need to alleviate the damage finally spoke.

“Isobel, it’s charming to see you again. As always, it’s a great party,” Sirius clipped his words just so, but half way through gave up his act and smirked at her, relaxing both his posture and his speech. Isobel nodded her thanks, took a shallow sip of her drink before she trusted herself to speak, which was a mistake.

“Black, what precisely are you doing here?” though she spoke it casually and actually managed to keep her anger out of her expressions, a voice inside of her head was berating her manners. Another voice however seemed to cheer her on, encouraging her to for once express her anger.

“At my evening entertainment,” she added, disdain at his colloquial terms dripping from the words.Black raised an eyebrow again. He spoke to her lowly, as if trying to keep any attention from himself. Belle briefly froze up as he leaned closer. Had no one else noticed the blood traitor’s entrance?

“ I was invited last year, Isobel. As well as every year before that, long before the end of term _evening_ …” he pronounced it with as much disdain as she had, only for different reasons she supposed. “…became your responsibility,” he smirked when he noticed his dig about her being new to the role of hostess hit home.

Belle saw red. She had never before understood that expression, shrugging it off as silly and common. Now though, her vision literally flashed red for a second as she processed what Sirius Black was saying to her, implying about her. Grandmother was always telling her she was passionate, which was more of a warning, as passion was never meant as a compliment in her circles. Belle struggled to control this so called passion, which really was just a murderous rage  
towards Sirius Black.

“Last year was different Black. Last year you could be forgiven your mistreatment towards Severus, and even the insults towards cousin Bella. Just as you were previously forgiven your sorting,” Belle smiled as every count visibly rattled through his mind, tensing him further with each one.

“Forgiven your voluntarily association with mudbloods, with half-bloods, with blood traitors. You were even forgiven when Bellatrix discovered you had been gallivanting off into muggle London to visit that pathetic blood traitor of a cousin and her mudblood husba-“ she faltered when Sirius raised his hand as though to slap her.

She watched the struggle that was taking place in his eyes. He wanted to hit her that she knew and near expected. He was furious, there was hatred almost bubbling up out of his eyes for her. But the tick in his jaw as he gritted his teeth to stop himself was what really fascinated her. Of course he was raised to never hit a woman, or anyone in a public setting. Belle stared into his hard grey eyes as his confusion and frustration swirled through them. She could recognize it. She just couldn’t understand it. Or him.

“Black,” a new voice cut it, startling Belle, who jumped backwards when she realized how close Black and her had drawn during their argument. Belle steadied herself, carefully folding her features into a mask of indifference as she watched Theodore Nott stride towards them. She realized now that their argument had drawn some notice, which was embarrassing, and potentially bad if any of her housemates saw fit to mention her loose tongue again. There were quite a few pleased smirks however, showing that they agreed with her list of wrongs Sirius  
had committed. Theodore was now next to her, and glaring, only slightly at Sirius.

“I don’t believe you were extended an invitation this year, which is all that matters. Disregard previous occasions, as everything is now different,” Theodore told him calmly. Sirius’ lips had pulled into a sneer that so reminded her of Lucius it was near unbearable.

“Why precisely is that Nott?” Sirius asked coldly, sparing a glance towards Belle, who met his stare brazenly before dropping them to the floor when he turned away. She was…not sad exactly but maybe put off that his eyes no longer showed what he was feeling. They carried the same mask that everyone else in their world did, the one she struggled so hard to master. Yet he, a blood traitor could do  
it better. Maybe that is what always irritated her about Sirius Black. The fact that she worked to be proper, elegant, charming at all times, and he could turn it on and off whenever he wanted. Maybe that’s why he constantly made her lose her temper.

“Why?” she scoffed, meeting his eyes again daringly. He turned his sneer towards her and she took an extra second to flip her long curls over a shoulder before continuing.

“It is because on those previous occasions we forgave your errors, because you were an heir, you were a Black. Now you’re nothing but a blood traitor, disowned by your own family,” she sneered, though did her best in the end to lighten up the tone. Sirius stopped breathing it seemed. His entire body was tense, no longer elegantly casual. She finished the last sip of her drink and handed it off with a  
flippant gesture to Theodore, who only nodded to her and with a glance at Sirius walked away. The rest of her guests took that as the final word of the argument and returned to whatever they had been doing previously.

Sirius took a step closer to her and Belle decided to blissfully forget the present facts she knew about him, only for a second. She let her eyes calmly sweep down his body, studying the broad yet sloping curve of his shoulders under the simple blue dress shirt, falling to the tapered lines of his slim hips. He had grown tall in  
this last year, taller than maybe even Lucius. He looked the very definition of a son of The House of Black, more so than Regulus ever could. He looked like Bellatrix and And- the other disowned member. She nearly snorted as she remembered the old joke about Narcissa, something involving a milkman, which was as far fetched as they came, but at least explained how on earth she was a Black. She stared into his eyes, a hard grey, not at all the same grey as the Malfoy eyes, which at times were near identical to her own. She felt said eyes widen as she realized exactly how close the boy she had been studying was.

Belle didn’t step back even though she knew how awful it would look to be caught so… intimate with Black. She met his gaze with one of her own. She was surprised to see a lack of hate or even anger in the stony depths. There was something akin to pity or closer to remorse. Once again Belle found herself without but craving answers as Sirius closed his emotions off. With a bored expression, he learned  
even closer to whisper.

“Dear _blood traitor_ Andy wasn’t the first pure blood princess to run off with a _mudblood_ ,” he spat the titles out with venom. “ Or so dear Catharina-Amalia was kind enough to tell Auntie Druella,” Belle started at the mention of her grandmother.

“I don’t know why you would think I’d care about your disgraceful cousin or anyone like her Black-“ Sirius cut her off with a darkly quiet chuckle. She could feel his breath blow across her skin, ruffling the shorter pieces of her hair with his answer. “ Oh, you’d care love, because the last person to do it was Elyse, your dear mother-“

“Don’t you dear speak about her Black,” when Sirius opened his mouth to continue, that bloody smirk still on his too handsome, too aristocratic face, she lost her poise but surprisingly not in anger.

 

“She’s dead Sirius. I know you like to suppress all your manners, but couldn’t you have a little decency. Or humanity, something…” she dwindled off angry to find there were tears in her eyes. The smirk left Sirius’ face. It was hard to push past all of the shitty things she’d said to him and really just what a bitch Isobel could be. But when it came down to it she was more than just another Slytherin. When they were really little they had played together often.

There was a scarcity of heirs born their year and Catharina-Amalia hoped the elder Black girls would take her under their wing. Bellatrix, who was near nine years their senior, always had something more important to do than babysitting, though she had practiced some hexes on them. Andy was seven years older and was always busy attending the social events Bellatrix should have. She tried to  
make time for them and even spent hours answering questions the summer  
before their first years. But distracted with NEWTS and Head Girl duties, she had disappeared. Now Sirius had to wonder if there was something more now to those disappearances.

Narcissa had actually taken to Isobel, if only because she was like a little doll. Cissa did so love pretty things, so she had carted Isobel around (and occasionally him as well) to all her little parties with other pure bloods. Everyone they were around as children was at least five years their senior. They had history. And staring at the beautiful, sixteen year old version of his childhood friend, it was  
easy to push aside the present. But he couldn’t stop then, the same things had to be said. Not out of cruelty anymore, but because of their shared past. No one should be able to lie to her about those things.

She wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her head was bowed, hands clasped against the dark green silk of her cocktail dress. The indescribable red curls, shining more than the torches on the wall, were pulled away from her face in an understated fashion. She was the very picture of a good society hostess. Sirius missed when she was behaving improperly, when she was fiery and not so docile. Gently, he  
tilted her chin up to meet her pale eyes and to her credit, she didn’t flinch away from his touch or his steady gaze. His pale, elegant hand moved from her chin to cup her cheek, eyes narrowing as he studied her. Neither of them spoke, only breathing, the shallow breaths mixing together between them. But Sirius had to. He never had believed that ignorance was blissful for anyone.

“You have the color of hair every female Dedalus, and only them, has had. The Dedalus eyes…my grand-mère always admired them, said they reminded her of glaciers. Aurora Borealis. You’re beautiful Isobel, befitting a Dedalus,” Sirius had  
forgotten what he meant to do, to say, looking into those eyes that changed so quickly, like lights against ice, just like he’d always heard but never could appreciate as a child. She was staring at him, the blue-grey deepening to a gem stone of blue and violet, her breath soft, stirring against the back of his hand. This was so wrong.

“You’re hair is curly,” he said suddenly and he immediately felt like throwing himself into the great stone fireplace on the wall opposite. Her eyes darkened slightly and she stiffened against his palm. Sirius couldn’t stop talking now though.

“No other Dedalus has had curly hair. Aunt Druella used to comment on it when you paid visits. And your eyes are tilted, only slightly, but it’s nearly wicked. A Dedalus should never look wicked, or cheerful,” he was talking so fast now and she was staring at him, her eyes hard, but shocked. Merlin, he felt terrible, even more so when she stepped back, almost too gracefully for him to even recall her  
being closer. His hand was still in the same place, cupping air now. He dropped his gaze to the floor, unnerved but the swirling colors and emotions in her eyes.

“Are you quite done, Black?” she asked, not a single traceable inflection of emotion in her voice. He slowly brought his hand down to his side, if only to give himself something to do. One of her hands was rested lightly on her hip and she  
sensuously leaned into it, always in control, but Sirius knew her a little, something he should get more credit for. He doubted anyone else would have noticed her other hand, hanging delicately at her side, relaxed for the most part, not clenched in an obvious sign of anger of struggle. But she still had that childhood tick, one that no lecture or manners class could strip her from. As Grand-mère always said, it was all in the breeding. Isobel unconsciously dug her thumbnail into the  
side of her index finger, creating a groove Sirius was sure could draw blood.

“You’re tall,” he added finally, wanting only to get out of here. What started as a way to rile up the evil gits of Slytherin was something entirely different and he wanted out immediately.

“What exactly is your point, Black?” her voice wasn’t as angry or calculated as he expected it to be. Instead, there was this strange sense of…desperation to it.

“Isobel, what do you remember about your parents? About…your father?” she stared at him, eyes wide, but Sirius had the strangest feeling that she was staring through him. “Is…” he dwindled off when her eyes refocused on his. He was once again struck speechless, but this time it wasn’t by the colors reflected there, but  
the emotions. Her eyes, in the dim light of the Slytherin green torches, gleamed with what he was afraid to name or to have caused.

“Nothing,” she mumbled quietly, shaking Sirius out of his thoughts. Belle wanted to berate herself for mumbling, for being so intimate with Black, for letting anything he said affect her. But her mind was moving too fast, blurring too much for her to concentrate long enough to do anything. She remembered, only minutes earlier, Black tensing more and more with every offense listed. Tensing as they hit home, as he recognized them, even against his will. She knew how that felt now.

Everything he said, though horrible, slanderous… it explained so much. Why Lucius, Theodore, Natalia, even Sirius Black, was so naturally elegant. Why Grandmother never spoke of her daughter after her Hogwarts graduation. It went beyond the physical things that he had listed, though those entire she had already accounted to her father’s side. She had just assumed, or been led to make the  
assumption, that her father was a foreigner, a pure blood heir of Italy or France.

There were so many memories coursing through her mind now, but as Sirius had reminded her, none of them were of her parents. They were of things that she knew and shouldn’t, like the sight of a drift wood fire, or of looks her grand parents sometimes gave her when they thought she wasn’t looking or was too young to interpret. Sirius watched her eyes softly lose focus as they flickered in the light, in their color, with what he assumed were her thoughts. And hoped was not her panic. Then suddenly her eyes snapped back into focus and her posture straightened out. He recognized the person in front of him. He had seen the same one in his mother, his aunt, in all of his female family members. It was over. Any humanity that was Isobel was gone, taken over by just another pure blooded, rich, snob of a hostess, a face perfect and blank with disinterest and the manners to match.

“You’ve obviously been mistaken, Black. Spreading such ridiculous rumors is extremely gauche and I would have thought below even you. Obviously, your blood traitor friends are of worse influence than your parents suspected,” she stated casually, slowly, clipping her words just right, and meeting his eyes with a flat look, the same one she would give any pedestrian that managed to get in her way on the street. She was almost proud of herself, as she certainly knew Lucius  
would have been if he could she her now. Of course he wouldn’t have been able to comprehend all of it. The fact that what Sirius was saying set off bells inside of her, or that she was panicking beneath all the formalities she spewed. That made her feat over her emotions even more impressive. She knew though, not to be too proud, that she hadn’t just miraculously managed to perfect the control Lucius had often tested. She knew, as any Slytherin would, but would never admit, that it was just survival instinct, one that ran in all of their pure blood.

Sirius had lost, that he was aware of. He straightened his shoulders and gave her a slight nod, just close enough to the formal bow to bring some emotion up into Isobel’s eyes. She dipped a small curtsey and with out meeting his eyes, offered her hand again. This time he took it, holding it tighter than he maybe should have. She was infuriating, but she was being lied to. Their society, parents and  
all the adults kept so many secrets and hid some much from them. Sirius had escaped, but he was the only one. Regulus was still there, and he still believed. Andy was different. She had never doubted what she was being fed, but it’s as if she made an exception for Ted and it opened the floodgates. Now Isobel was whom he wanted to save from it. But he wouldn’t, he didn’t even really want it. She was cruel now, and cold. Their past, her blood, the lies didn’t change that. She would stay here in his old world and he would return to the Marauders and to a world so different that he would never-

“Thank you for coming Sirius. It’s nice to see you after so long, but I’m afraid it is no longer proper for us to associate. Keep well,” Isobel said quietly, squeezing his hand for the briefest moment. Sirius blinked in his silent reverie and nodded tightly. He bent his head slightly and brushed his lips against her hand.

“You’re right, of course. It is no longer appropriate for either of us. Take care of yourself, Is,” Sirius turned to go but paused for a heartbeat, berating himself for what he wanted to, what he was about to do.

“Think about what I said. Please,” he whispered quietly, knowing not to draw any more attention to them tonight. He gave her a weak smile, a grimace really, and strode to the door. He grabbed his jacket and bunching it in his hand, left the excessively decorated room.

Jolene Isobel Dedalus watched him leave, frozen to the spot. The people around her laughed and spoke with elegant fluidity of their politics and the ministry and whose wedding were to be attended this summer season. Jolene Isobel Dedalus stayed where she was and let thoughts and pictures and his voice slip in and out of her mind. She vaguely noticed, out of manners and habit, her best friend’s tinkling laugh and then Natalia laying her hand on Theodore’s arm. She saw  
Regulus Black slink out of the room, looking either exceedingly angry or exceedingly upset. She saw Marion Selwyn glance casually at her with a raised eyebrow. She waved her hand vaguely and finally moved.

She found a tray of drinks and casually picked up two glasses of champagne. Dumping the contents of one into the other, she took her full glass over to one of the fireplaces. There was a chill in the room, under her skin that she didn’t want to contemplate. Sirius’ voice whipped through her mind, all the praises and insults and the questions. The voice was changing as she drank deeper, and her mind  
swam slightly, the torches and fires dancing, mixing with the guests. The voice deepened, the accent became wider, and the joy, the spark that was missing from Sirius’s demeanor for most of the night was exaggerated.

Words became louder, rising and falling with the voices in the room, with Sirius’ words lost in her head, with her shallow breaths. _Jo_ it muttered and sang loud, lilting songs. Trying to clear the haze from her head, Jolene Isobel Dedalus set the drink down and closed her eyes. When she opened them, it was facing the enchanted fireplace, shimmering and twisting in burning blue-green. And the voice  
whispered again _Driftwood._

 

 

* * *

 

**A/N:** Hello.  
This is my first story in which I use a OC, or focus on Sirius Black, so please feel free to review with criticism. The story will not always have this calculated or pretentious writing style, though it will shine through, since it is appropriate to the Pure Blood society that much of this story focuses on. Enjoy!


	3. God Awful Small Affair

 "Isobel," her grandmother called from somewhere near the grand staircase. Belle jumped,  
and berated herself for it. She was doing nothing wrong. If anything Grandmother would be glad she had taken such an interest in the Dedalus clan. _Herfamily._

A warning bell went off, clanging through her entire body. Those thoughts floated in and out  
her mind throughout the day, every day of the summer. It's what led her here, to the long, dim room in the east wing of the manor: The portrait hall, which had remained mostly undisturbed as long as Belle remembered. But here she was, every free hour she had, studying the faces of her family, looking for something she wouldn't name. It was mid-July and she was no closer to whatever answer she sought and she was only done with one wall of the cool room.

"Isobel, it is time for us to leave," her grandmother called again. Belle could feel the impatience growing in her grandmother's voice. That is why she hadn't finished her scouring of the dark, unfamiliar faces currently surrounding her. All summer Grandmother had been dragging her (not literally, or even with any noticeable reluctance) to various social gatherings deemed both appropriate and important enough to garner interest from Catharina-Amalia. Belle was quite used to being carted off to small teas or dinners with her Slytherin peers, much like the events Narcissa has toted her around to when she was younger. But now, nearly of age, going into her final year of schooling, everything had changed. Gone were the (nearly) carefree teas with her best friend Natalia Darvulia, Marion Selwyn and the few other acceptable pureblood girls her age. Every event now was full of parents and grandparents, businessmen and graduates. Mostly, they were full of eligible young men. 

Belle knew why these were the gatherings she was brought to, why Natalia and Marion were also attending. They were almost seventeen, and that birthday would make them officially of age in Wizarding society. Belle should feel happier at the thought. It meant being able to use magic wherever she wished (though she knew if she wished to, Grandfather would speak with the ministry about lifting the bans around the manor), that she could finally get her apparation license and that a family heirloom watch would soon be hers. This is what other witches and wizards celebrated with their seventeenth year. But this birthday would mean to her something much greater. A wedding and to who she didn't know. That was her coming of age right. 

With a slightly petulant sigh Belle took a final glance at the portraits nearest her. Many of them sneered coldly, which was often the case. Her family didn't seem to be one for talking. At least not to her. At the curl of some great aunt's lips, she turned and walked out of the room. She hadn't even closed the doors when Grandmother came upon her. 

"Isobel Dedalus, I have been calling you for too long to be remotely considered respectful," Catharina-Amalia was an imposing woman with graying red hair and pale green eyes, not entirely unlike born Dedalus woman. But of course, breeding was an art form her society had perfected. She reminded Belle of a calico cat, not that she would ever admit it under anything less than Crucio. Her voice was a tad lower than most women but her presence was much greater. Of course most women, her friends' mothers and such, were positively simpering. 

"I apologize, Grandmother," Isobel rushed out, realizing she had been silent a beat too long. Catharina-Amalia raised an eyebrow at her harried state. Then her pale eyes wandered over Belle's curiously tall stature to the portrait hall doors. 

"Ah, I understand now," was all Catharina-Amalia said in response. Then suddenly, she grasped Belle's upper arm in a gentle, yet demanding grip and started pulling her along the hall towards the opposite wing. Belle stumbled along, frightened more than she could possibly show even without Lucius' continued coaching. She was not sure of what her grandmother thought she  
understood but if she was remotely close to knowing her inner fears, the ones a disowned heir had planted in her head, she might soon have more in common with Sirius than before. Luckily (though she had hardly considered it so previously) she had never been very good at holding her tongue, so she was sure to know what was happening soon.

"Grandmother, wha-" she couldn't finish the word as they turned another corner and Catharina-Amalia near uncharacteristically spoke with enthusiasm and praise.

"Learning about the family. I cannot believe I did not insist on it being included in your pre-schooling. Of course it's not as if I could hire a tutor like we did Latin. Grandfather or I would have had to, which would not have been plausible. The only other choice would have been one of the older house elves. Morgana knows quite a few of them are ancient enough, not like that was ever truly an option. But it is only right for you to know more about the Dedalus line. You are the last-" at this point they had reached the corridor which held her rooms. Belle was surprised, not only at the colloquial phrasing present in the speech, but also at the admittance of the end of their bloodline. It was rarely mentioned and the few times only as a tool to chastise her. 

"I'm glad you have taken an interest, but once again, taking things entirely into your own care is not fit. People are to assist you. We Dedalus' are not to do what we can hire for. We oversee, we observe, we advise. It is not as though we are peasants my dear. I will talk to Grandfather about your education. But you must get ready. We shall be late for the Burke's dinner. Something will be in to help you dress. What you're wearing is not remotely appropriate," and  
with that, her grandmother swept from the hall, leaving Belle at her bedroom door feeling decidedly windswept. 

Slowly, tiredly, she entered her room. With a glance, she realized there was not a soul present, not even Impsy, her house elf. With a sigh, she slipped off her shoes and curled her toes in the soft, crme carpeting, making her way to the grand bed, where she collapsed into the soft threstalfeather dressings. Her room was decorated entirely to her taste, or to the rich taste she was supposed to have. All soft creme and gold paired with rich plum shades. She really did love it, the ornate carvings in all the furniture, the think curtains that allowed her to sleep in,  
or just hide from the day as she had wished to do much of this summer. Her grandmother rarely set foot inside, waving it off as distaste for the near Gryffindor coloring. 

Gryffindor, like Sirius, Belle thought, her mind wandering and of course landing on him. She couldn't even be just in her guilt caused by some wayward attraction, which she was sure every girl, even the other heiresses had succumbed to. It wasn't there. Her guilt, her fears, everything that made her feel as though she needed to hide from the world were because of things he had the nerve to accuse her family of. His family as well. No sense of decency left in him she thought with anger, barely containing her childish urge to throw a pillow. A throw pillow. Belle choked on a laugh. Pathetic. Her jokes, her anger over Black, her doubt of her family. _Her family._

With a new burst of anger, Belle all but threw herself off the bed and strode over to her vanity. Collapsing onto the chintz, she slowly leaned forward and placing her elbows on the delicate mirrored surface, studied her face more intently than she'd had the guts to do in the weeks since her end of the year gathering. 

Everything Black had said was true. She was taller than all of her friends and her grandmother. She had been since as early as her fourth year. But that could easily be some rare trait of the family as height was impossible to tell from portraits. Her hair was curly, though few people now knew it to be naturally so untamable. Druellaand Sirius were only privy because they knew her before she had mastered the beauty spells that made it possible to loosen her curls to simple waves or even stick straight like all the hair adorning the portraits she studied every day. But if her father had been Italian, or maybe even French like the Blacks, then chances  
were he could have passed down that trait.

But Black had not named all of the slight differences Belle could see so clearly visible during her gazing. She knew why she had been keeping the blinds closed. Between the light and the reflections she was too afraid not to. Just like she was too afraid now to even name or count off the unrecognizable aspects of her appearance. She leaned in closer to stare into her eyes, the flickering lights and colors across ice, the ones Sirius had so admired. They were shot through  
with red currently, and the coquettish glint was missing, rapidly being replaced with an unrecognizable glistening. Forcing the heels of her palms against them, she hid from what she was beginning to see as truth. That thought startled her into looking up.

"Miss, Miss! I's is so sorry, miss. We must be getting you ready now or the mistress wills be very upset. Hurry, Hurry miss!" Impsy squeaked as she rushed into the room carrying a dress robe high over her head as to keep it from dragging. Belle couldn't help but smile slightly. Something about house elves always calmed her down, made her mind go blank. 

In third year, the year before Narcissa was gone and the true heat came down for all of Andromeda Black's mistakes, Belle had taken to going down to the Hogwarts' kitchens. She never went down late at night or during meals like the few other students who knew the kitchen's location. She would go down right before meals or right after, when all the elves were rushing about carrying platters and pots or splashing around in the washing bins. It was easier to lose herself in the chaos there. Chaos was something she was never allowed to ordinarily witness or create. But it gave her some peace she could never find in the quiet of her life, a life that left her feeling so stale and bored. Sometimes she had these horrible urges to destroy things or to crush someone purely because it would give her something to concentrate on besides perfection. 

Impsy was flitting around her like some sort of storm, brushing magical cosmetics and potions onto her skin, twisting her forest of hair into an up do, something totally different than a traditional French twist or chignon, something that was not sleek or perfectly coiffed. Just her riot of red curls held back with a natural headband, a braid of spun violent, sunset strands. Belle's eyes were glued to this image, it reminded her so vividly of something... Something so out of reach though. Small braids in red hair, ragged and limp from a day of hard work. 

As Impsy finished the cosmetic spells needed and hurriedly yanked her, stumbling to her feet. Belle harshly snapped herself out of whatever delusion she had imagined. She knew no one who wore braids at all, let alone ones that would be worse for wear from work. Dedalus' did not do work, she reminded herself, Grandmother's voice ringing in her ears. She calmly raised her arms up so Impsy could magic the silky material of the dress robes over her head. Impsy tugged on it, adjusting it to fix to her body, before rushing towards the large walk-in closet for heels and most likely jewelry. Belle didn't pay much attention as she let Impsy snap whatever bangle and jewels on her and slip the low-heeled dragon hide sandals on her delicate feet. Then quite suddenly she was being tugged into the hallway and towards the grand staircase. 

Impsy disappeared with a quick grin and a loud crack, which Belle knew had to have upset Grandmother. Collecting a calming breath, she took a steady step towards the stairs and started to descend in what she hoped was cool, collected grace. Whatever it turned out to be was quickly interrupted by Grandmother's upset sharp inhale. Before she truly knew what had happened, Catharina-Amalia had pulled her from the stairs and into a side drawing room. Rubbing her wrist in a petulant manner, Belle was almost thankful for her mysterious height that required her to wear low shoes. If she had to flounce around in the monstrous spikes of heels 5'4" Natalia did she doubted she would survive a day home.

"Thank Mordred for side-along apparation or I doubt we would make any social engagements without seeming horribly snobbish," Grandmother hissed menacingly, though Belle suppressed the urge to laugh at the idea of anyone she knew being anything but snobbish. 

"Not only do you waste your afternoon away in that stuffy gallery, making us wait on you while that abhorrent animal makes a fool of itself with its elaborate bowing, but now you show up with this hair. Honestly Isobel, did you think you were going to some common fair? Off to gallivant with gypsies or mud bloods?" her grandmother muttered a few more spells and Belle felt her hair reshape itself into what felt like a sleek, smooth and utterly perfect chignon. 

"Remind me to punish that elf of yours when we return. Now, are you quite ready to leave?" Catharina-Amalia asked coldly, steering her granddaughter once more through the door into the foyer where Prosper was waiting. He gave her a once over and an approving sniff at which Grandmother released her grip and moved to take her place with her husband. 

"Yes, Grandmother. I apologize for any complications I have caused. I promise I will do better next time. Impsy will be told what she did wrong so it cannot happen again," Belle said quietly, her voice softening, becoming that of the perfect daughter. Her insides felt like they had been set boiling in a potion at the thought of what punishment her grandmother had in mind for Impsy.

"Very well. My dear, are we all ready to be off now? I have important business I must attend to with Borgin before dinner is called, remember?" Prosper Dedalus addressed his wife, but it was Belle who shivered, hearing the underlying threat in his words. Grandmother merely nodded and once again clutched Belle's wrist. She didn't even have time to prepare herself or take a breath before the squeezing sensation began and ended with a faint pop. She looked up to see yet another large manor set on sprawling grounds with an imposing drive and gate.

  
They had arrived. 

________________________________________________________________________

 

"Belle! I can't believe Catharina-Amalia would allow such tardiness. Truly appalling, Isobel. Your robes are fabulous however," Natalia Darvulia finished her taunting with a slight toast and an even slighter sip of her champagne. Almost as if feeling her grandmother's eyes upon her, Belle leaned in and delivered two quick kisses to her closest friend's cheeks. Natalia laughed lightly at the stuffy Italian greeting and gestured towards the surrounding people. A second later a drink was being held in front of her by Leone Zabini. With a polite smile in his direction, she took it and swallowed shallow sip. Leone leered at her and Belle felt the urge to spit the bubbling liquid back out.

This was an urge she obviously did not follow and when she managed to regain control, looked up to find Leone still watching her, though not as intrusively as before. That's when she felt it: The amount of eyes and stares following her every move. Men and boys alike, all from good families, old blood, most, if not all, extremely well off. She slowly met a few of their eyes. Leone Zabini, dark and Italian had graduated several years ago, only one or so behind Narcissa. Bartemius Crouch, small, young but charming, was only a 5th year and had no business being in attendance, but everyone made exceptions for Carine Crouch (nee Montague). Across the room she noted Theodore Nott standing an appropriate distance of three feet from Marion Selwyn. She sipped her drink as she watched Theodore lightly touch Marion's hand as he made some point speaking, causing a light flush to highlight Marion's fair skin.  
Yes, they would make a good match she thought, but not in the sense of how pure their blood, how rich their families or what a pretty picture they made. 

The Selwyn's were an extremely old pure blood family, not as old as her own or the Blacks and Malfoys, but certainly older than the Lestranges or MacDougals. What made them a truly exceptional family was the fact that they were almost entirely English. The Blacks could trace their family tree as far back as the International Warlock Convention held in 1289, but that is only when the first documentation of them in the UK had appeared. With their French ancestry, crest and family motto, it was simply accepted that the Noir family Version of Ile-de-France originated the English Blacks. The Dedalus family could also trace their origins back to 13th century United Kingdom, as Tiziano Dedalus had competed in the first Triwizard Tournament held in 1292. He was Venetian and from what Isobel could gather from the portrait hall, had  
continued the bloodline in England after finishing school at Hogwarts. Even the Malfoys, who had been around since the Witch Burnings of the 14th century, had heritage both in France and Crete. But the Selwyns were a family dating back to the late 14th, or early 15th century (While Belle had obtained an O.W.L. in History of Magic, she struggled with dates that were not repeated to her by family, or Lucius) and they were English and Welsh exclusively. 

Marion had the looks of it too, the only one in their dorm to look like a proper English rose. Between her own elegant, clashing coloring, Natalia's eastern European features and Vera Bulstrode's resemblance to the Blacks, MarionÕs golden locks and sage green eyes stuck out. She had been the only one of the seventh year Slytherin girls who could pull off the pinks, and pastels that were appropriate when they were much younger playmates. This remained true today Belle mused, studying the crushed, rose-colored velvet of the other girl's robes. Marion's matching rose doll lips curved into a demure smile as Theodore laughed at something she said. 

The Notts were 16th century at best, which was not young, but it was towards the middle. They were also not a distinctly English family, there were Notts all over Scandinavia. However, they were rich, enough so that in such a society of opulence it made all the difference. They  
associated with only the best, and they did not have to give large "charitable" donations to have control in the ministry. They, not legally of course, but technically controlled some series of Scandinavian Islands, Belle never could remember which. As Professor Binns had once said in a rare moment of actual enlightenment, land equals power and the Notts certainly did have both. But regardless of these pure blood pleasing attributes, Marion and Theodore were both strangely noble people, especially for Slytherins. Both were polite, smart, ambitious, bright and the perfect heirs for their families, besides Marion being a girl. But she had her brother to make up for that.

"Oh my, has my darling Belle set her eyes on the Nott heir?" Natalia's strange, husky voice interrupted her matchmaking musing. Belle turned to face her best friend with a weary smile.  
Natalia's smile echoed her own with a glint of self-satisfaction. Natalia Darvulia's dark brown hair was coiffed into impeccable waves around her overly delicate shoulders, an equally delicate brow arched over her haunting, purple tinted eyes. Her dress robes were of deep, liquid plum, a heavy material, especially for the warm summer months and they draped around her slender, sometimes sunken seeming form. As always, her arms and hands were draped and heavy jewels and bangles. Grandmother often sniffed at this, said it reminded her of filthy, muggle gypsies. This was fitting for the old Eastern European family, who were possibly responsible for the Roma. 

The Darvulia were untraceable, seemingly older than time, though certainly older than 15th century. This blotched history of their family, along with their darker looks and frail appearance wasn't particularly favorable among their circles, but their known proficiency with the old magics, along with the charms of their children was saving them from disgrace. Natalia often bragged of some ancient relative, the rumored Anna Darvulia, who tricked a Muggle ruler into killing hundreds of people for some spell Anna convinced the queen would retain her youth. The story made Belle's skin crawl.

"I should warn you then," Natalia drawled slowly, raising her glass to her deep red lips, her eyes narrowed in on Theodore Nott. "That I've chosen him," Belle was torn between laughter at the sentiment and the chill that ran through her. She had heard girls say these things. She had heard the McKinnon girl say it, the pretty mudblood who used to follow James Potter around, her plain brown eyes following some boy's form as he loped down a corridor. When McKinnon said it, when other girls said something like that, it was sexual, sometimes joking, often followed by very improper behavior ending with a date, some rumors and eventually a simple break up. When the words were spoken in conversations around Belle, it meant another picture  
perfect pure blood wedding to attend. When Natalia spoke it, Belle had no idea what she meant, but she knew it was nowhere as innocent as what normal girls meant. 

"There is not a warning necessary, Natalia," is what Belle said out loud. Natalia was her best friend, had been since the beginning of school. Natalia was her only rebellion. Catharina-Amalia  
didn't approve of Natalia, of her family, or her appearance. Grandmother would much rather her be friends with Vera. But Natalia was daring and had seemed so sure of herself. As a child the only people Belle has ever really played with were Sirius and his cousins, all of who were so old. When Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, Belle had almost had a panic attack in the sorting hat line, not that she would ever admit this under the most wretched of distress. But then, right about the time she had resolved to beg the hat to put her in Gryffindor with Sirius, a tiny, dark girl who hadn't knotted her tie and was already wearing eyeliner had sat herself on the stool with a mysterious smile. She didn't close her eyes or even appear to pay attention to what the hat was whispering, but instead lazily glanced around the hall, audaciously rolling her  
eyes. She caught Belle's own surprised eye and while she had wanted to look away, embarrassed for the girl and to have been caught staring, Natalia had raised her eye brow in a challenge and then winked. 

When under the hat, Belle just thought of Natalia, and some how managed to look just as impervious to all the staring and whispering, even the strange shock from some of the professors and the glint in the headmaster's eye. As she made her way over to the Slytherin table, Andromeda had made space for her, but Belle had waved her off, instead wandering to the end of the table and seating herself delicately across from Natalia, who no one else had come near yet. Natalia laughed in that all knowing, glamorous movie star way she had and soon others joined around them, listening to Natalia's ghost stories and watching Belle's reactions. Trying to maintain the same cold, arrogant aloofness of Narcissa or Andromeda had always been so difficult with them, like it was never chilled enough. But it came easily when paired with Natalia's flashing, dangerous looks and her loud laughter. When Belle had finally let some of her Black trained reserve crack and let her passion, and temper show through, she finally surpassed Natalia's abilities to control the room. Bellatrix had remarked on it to Lucius at his engagement dinner. 

"Having the appearance of always being in control without the temper to follow through on your threats is useless. It's a smart girl whom can look like a child bride but bring any of her guests bleeding to the floor," she had whispered, smiling with her usual malice, only some mockery ringing through the words. When Lucius had repeated this to Belle later that night, he had said it with some patronizing humor threading between the words, but that was how he always treated Bellatrix. Belle knew he considered this blessing something to be proud of from the way he spoke of Narcissa and her older sister. 

Narcissa was a child bride through and through; regardless of the fact that she was now twenty years of age. She was the perfect hostess, barely letting emotion show, hardly speaking, keeping company only with other women of her status. While Belle knew Lucius appreciated this, he was dreadfully bored most of the time. But he preferred that to the annoyance that  
was present on his features whenever Bellatrix Lestrange wandered near him. She was wild, overtly sexual, and had no control or sense of public decency. Belle often wondered what he was so afraid she would do or reveal due to her lack of control, but he never even hinted that he was afraid. One sister bored him, the other worried him and he regarded Bellatrix's assessment of Belle as proof that she was balanced. At least that is how she saw these relationships. 

Natalia was speaking casually, people who usually would surround them for a scrap of entertainment in these circumstances, staying away purely from the dangerous energy Belle knew they too felt coming of her tonight. She knew that to mention an attraction to Theodore after Natalia had staked her claim in him when she was in one of these particularly dangerous  
moods would be plain stupid. It had been quite some time since Natalia had gone into one of her rages, preferring to present some doll like faade now to win the best husband, but Belle secretly missed them. She felt awful for it, and she had no idea why it was. It was something like watching a horribly done dive or play on the quidditch field, one that left players spiraling towards the ground. It strangely reminded her of why she had chosen to confront Sirius last May or why she deliberately failed a Potions exam in 4th year. Boredom. Natalia spoke again and Belle spotted the Malfoy's across the room.

"I should warn you though, since you were so kind to do that same," Belle found herself speaking, cutting Natalia off in the middle of what she said. Natalia's eyes widen only slightly, enough to show Belle that it was obvious she hadn't been listening and that coupled with her audacity to interrupt her could come with a heavy fine. Belle knew that she would escape such a punishment soon enough, and be free to go speak to Lucius and would have this feeling cured for some amount of time. 

"While I have no interest in capturing the attention of the Nott heir, he is a little young too be suitable," Belle and Natalia both meant she didn't mean his age, but his blood by that and she noted Natalia's lip curl slightly at the veiled insinuation. "But you should be aware that another one of our charming house mates has been seen by some to be a much more fitting match. Practically fit enough to be made permanent, if you understand," this caught Natalia's attention and her eyes zeroed in on Marion just as Theodore offered to get her a new drink. Natalia's eyes narrowed in a dangerous manner but a snide smile appeared as Theodore left Marion alone to find a House Elf. She slowly stalked towards her prey. 

Belle knew she would feel awful for this later, she could feel it building now, before anything bad had even come about. But she knew there would be a scene soon, one, which would cause drama between her dorm mates for some time and another, veiled comment from Grandmother about her choice in friends and she felt justified. She felt alive and buoyant, something that hadn't occurred much all summer. With a secret smile, she turned away from the fight that was brewing and slowly walked over to where Lucius and Narcissa stood observing the room. Narcissa saw her first and let a small smile graze her lips as she touched Lucius' arm. 

"My darling girl, are you aware your dear grandmother is consulting us on your future husband? I made sure to give her quite delightful options," Lucius smirked over his over her hand before kissing it softly. Narcissa spoke in her light monotonous way as she swooped in to kiss her cheeks.

"I still hold the idea that she would gladly kill me off to marry you to Lucius," Belle held in her laughter at the thought and even Lucius struggled to hide his surprise at the snide comment. Once Narcissa pulled back, Belle stepped to the other side of her, knowing how improper it would be for her to stand next to Lucius. All three of them observed the room, still as statues, even as a crowd started growing around where Belle was certain Natalia was ripping into Marion. Belle did her best to hide the twinge of satisfaction she felt but of course Lucius saw through it. 

"Well, why is your friend fussing now?" he asked, lifting his chin slightly to better see. Belle gave a very light shrug but Narcissa interrupted before she could speak.

"Is that the Selwyn's daughter caught in her claws? That's a bit of a downward step isn't it? I believe she took on little Gryffindor last time," Belle used all of her will and Lucius' advice not to flinch at all. Gryffindor was what Narcissa, Bella and Lucius, along with a few other meaningless housemates had taken to calling Sirius after he had been disowned. She barely remembered that night, only a few weeks before Sirius had run away nearly two years ago when Natalia hadn't been pleased with his answer to one of her more charming attempts to  
garner his interest. 

"From what I hear, its Isobel that had taken up that mantel," Lucius said lightly, not sparing a glance to her. Narcissa didn't follow her husband's lead and turned towards her rather sharply. Belle wanted to curse her luck. Of course Lucius would know, he knew everything that happened in their circle, even now that everyone he had shared the common room with was gone. Before Narcissa could snap out whatever question Belle knew was coming, she as tactfully as possible, cut her off.

"Natalia is simply making a claim known. She's rather keen on warnings after all," she said lightly, keeping her eyes focused on the ruckus happening on the other side of the dance floor. She could feel Narcissa's eyes on her and even Lucius' from time to time, but she didn't look. She knew soon enough Natalia would provide for some escape route. She always did. There it was. A peal of her laughter, which meant she believed that the point had been made. But it cut off rather abruptly and it was Natalia, not Marion that walked away, very quickly, her heavy robes dragging after her. She turned to make her excuse. 

"I find it interesting that you would care enough for that cousin of mine to even continue speaking to him," Narcissa noted quietly, before Belle could even open her mouth. Lucius watched his wife warily as she sipped from her stem of champagne. Belle didn't even know how to respond, but she was beginning to think that perhaps she had been wrong about Mrs. Malfoy. She was proving herself rather enlightened tonight. 

"It of course does make some sense though," Narcissa continued and Belle was frozen, like she was when she watched a quidditch wreck or a potion explode, only this time it was happening to her. Narcissa finished her thought.

"You two were meant to be married after all. Shame about that," she finished lightly, lifting her glass in some mock toast before touching Lucius' arm and leading him away. Belle followed their progress, hardly keeping her mouth closed. Married. She was supposed to have married Sirius Black. Why had no one told her? She closed her eyes briefly before turning on her heel and sweeping after Natalia. 

**A/N:** I apologize for how long this took to get up. I thought I had published it months ago but I was mistaken. This just means a much shorter wait for the next chapter, which is almost done! Review please.  



	4. All the Reasons I Gave

 All The Reasons I Gave

Taken from the song Ocean of Noise by Arcade Fire

 

Belle was lying in the center of the cool, light oak floor of the ballroom, the mid morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows surrounding her.  It was August and an uncomfortably warm one, especially in the moors of Northern Yorkshire. It was so warm that even Catharina-Amalia had taken a break from the various social visits and kept to the cool dark sitting rooms of the lower manor floors. This left Belle with plenty of free time to continue her investigation into the Dedalus family, only she hadn’t. Not since the night of the Burke’s dinner had she once ventured near the portrait hall. She hadn’t questioned anything, she hadn’t studied the mirror and she couldn’t even whisper a reason out loud. She tried to become as vapid as the other female heirs, the ones she didn’t even deign to speak to usually, because of how empty their heads seemed. Now she was so jealous of their dimness she could hardly breathe from it. So she retreated from the heat, from her quest and from her thoughts.  

 

The Ballroom of the Dedalus manor was quite possibly her favorite room. Since her grandparents were older now, they barely held any parties large enough to warrant its use, however the house elves kept it in impeccable condition. It was a large rectangular room, with beautifully molded, high domed ceilings, a wall of floor length windows and doors leading to the veranda overlooking the west garden. All the furniture, except the lone grand piano in the corner had been removed and stored, leaving the vast expanse of smooth flooring blissfully empty. Belle, after eating breakfast alone in her room, had pulled on a gently yellowing lace dress she was sure had been her mother’s. It was terribly old fashioned with its sheer capped sleeves and the scalloped collar. It cinched in tightly at the waist and the skirt would have been full if Belle hadn’t taken the crinoline out from under the tulle of the skirt. When she had spun across the Ballroom floor earlier, the skirt had flared out and brought a wonderful breeze to her long legs. Eventually she grew tired of her spinning and collapsed on the floor. The 50’s dress gathering around her legs, she stared up at the chandelier above her. 

 

With a dreamy smile, she let her mind drift to her mother. She could see her, beautiful, young, dancing across this floor, the then bright ivory lace spinning around her as she danced with a handsome pure blood man, some one who could possibly have become her father. The woman she pictured was seventeen, her red hair brighter, longer and straighter than Belle’s, her eyes sparkling. It was a woman Belle knew from only one photo, taken the night of Elyse’s seventeenth birthday at a ball just for her. She was alone in the picture, standing in the doorway of the Ballroom, the garden over her shoulders visible just barely in the setting sun. She would smile charmingly at the camera before turning and taking the few short steps outside only to turn and beckoning the photographer to follow her. Her mother’s birthday was in April, falling around the Easter holidays. That meant she had disappeared only a month or so after the ball. Did she know she was leaving even then, or was she thinking of nothing more than her magic and who she would be marrying? Belle wondered if she knew whom Catharina-Amalia had chosen by then, if she had run away because she hated the chosen one or if she had loved someone else. 

 

Unbidden, her mind drifted once again to the secret Narcissa had let slip out. She was supposed to marry Sirius. Or she was supposed to have been betrothed to him she amended. What had changed? She squeezed her eyes shut as pictures began to fill her head. Her and Sirius dancing at her own coming of age ball, their engagement announced, the pure blood world overjoyed with the idea of the Black and Dedalus families uniting. The images were strangely perverted almost like through old, warped glass, but she couldn’t quite put a finger on what was so strange in the images. Sirius in dark robes in some vast manor, herself in fine silk at the end of a long table. Sirius and her standing staunchly side by side on the train platform as a small, aristocratic child steps on the scarlet engine without a wave or any tears of affection. Sirius kissing her softly, coldly in front of a camera at some ministry event. They were standard scenes she saw all the time in her life, from her grandparents to the Malfoy’s to the Black’s.

 

Belle saw then what was wrong with the pictures her mind had created. While Lucius could kiss Narcissa goodbye without any expression crossing his face or her grandparents could sit at their impossibly long table for an entire meal and never exchange a word of meaning, Sirius did not fit into those roles. Visions of Sirius bumping her elbow with his at a meal simply because he could, or his eyes flashing, the same way they did right before delivering some crippling insult or remark, as he leaned in to kiss her. Belle shook her head, trying to rid herself of this line of thought. Why or how her thoughts on being married to Sirius Black were of no importance. She wasn’t going to, not anymore. Shame about that, just as Narcissa had said. Nothing more. But if it was such a shame then why…

 

“Oh, pardon me,” Belle started much more perceptibly then she would have liked. She was in no danger, that she knew from the polite, clipped voice apologizing and the fact that she would already be too hurt to defend herself from any Dedalus enemies if they some how had managed to sneak up on her. Taking in a few breaths to compose herself, she sat up daintily, as much as one could when lying in the middle of a floor, and located the source of her disturbance. 

 

“I’m afraid I didn’t see you there…on the ground,” the boy said with a smirk. Belle studied him, and catalogued all she could in the brief moment before he stepped closer. Just by hair color she could for the most part narrow down if not tell someone’s surname and this boy’s was a dark blonde, falling in long curls, carefully pushed back from his forehead.  

 

“I am apparently lost. Your…grandmother?” the boy confirmed with a nod, moving closer. “Was showing my mother this wing and I just felt some sort of draw towards this room. I can see why now, of course,” he said with a charming smile, offering her his hand as he reached her bare feet. Belle softly rested her pale hand in his darker one and tried to rise as delicately as she should but stumbled into his chest. His smile widened, much like she imagined a cat’s would when managing to get into the cream and his large hand flattened against the small of her back. 

 

“And you would be?” she asked primly, straightening up as she pulled away from him, or attempted to since his grip on her didn’t lessen. He laughed, moving only to sweep into a bow and with a cheeky grin offered his hand. 

“Elias Greengrass,” and as Belle placed her hand in his, expecting the socially acceptable kiss or even a simple handshake, was swept up in to waltz position. Off her perhaps offended look he laughed again and she oddly found herself drawn to the sound of his quiet, breathy chuckles.

 

“Excuse me, but you looked as though you were waiting for a partner,” and then he began to sweep her around the room. Belle stiffly followed Elias’ steps across the spacious floor, scrutinizing his face. He simply smiled under her gaze, his warm hand on the middle of her back guiding her and at the same time relaxing her. Even after his eyes had left her face, she still studied it, trying to figure out why she did not know him and why she was relaxing into his arms. He had a strong, square jaw, a long if not slightly crooked nose and high, hollowed cheek bones, which all led to his pensive, almond shaped hazel eyes. 

 

“You know, I’m usually not put off by beautiful girls staring at me, but I’m starting to get a little uncomfortable,” he said cheekily, but there was a hint of discomfort tingeing his clipped voice. Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze. His breathy chuckle gently blew the curls down around her face and she glanced back up. 

 

“So you’re the last Dedalus,” Elias commented casually, and Belle stopped dancing. They both just stared at each other for a silent minute, their hands still joined, their stances stiff.  Belle, though she was still staring at his handsome face, wasn’t seeing him. This was a fact she knew, one that was ingrained in her daily through her grandparent’s comments and the greedy stares of others at gatherings, seeing something valuable in obtaining the last of her blood. She was it, the last of her name, of her family tree, of her pure, pure Dedalus blood. 

 

Something clicked in that moment, the final puzzle piece fell into place, one she wasn’t aware she had even been missing, but now she had realized the last thing to make Sirius Black’s speculation truly hit home as more than that. It hadn’t made sense before, not that she had realized how bothersome that was. Why would she still be here if her mother really had betrayed the family, had dirtied their blood? Blood. That was the answer, and the reason for everything. Blood dictated her life.

 

“I apologize,” Elias’ voice was soft as it interrupted her spiraling thoughts. “That was insensitive. I only meant to say…well honestly I’m not sure. I wasn’t taunting you or insulting the state of your family in anyway I assure you, I was just…clarifying or something. I don’t know. I deeply apol-,” Belle silenced him with a glance and caught her reflection in his eyes. A little paler than usual, lips pressed together in what could be seen as an insolent pout and her eyes looked wild, scared even.

 

“I’m Isobel,” she said quietly, focusing purely on talking. Elias nodded profusely and opened his mouth to speak but Belle interrupted him more firmly this time, her eyes flashing. “I’m Isobel, just Isobel. I am not my family.”

 

Elias studied her, making no show of hiding his scrutiny. At some point during their discussion, they had dropped hands, though they still stood inappropriately close. Belle kept her chin lifted, her eyes still meeting his throughout his inspection and she didn’t dare step back. Finally Elias smiled, just slightly, wearily and offered his hand again. Belle placed her small hand once again delicately in his wide one and smiled, though a million thoughts still raced through her head. Elias kissed her hand softly and lowered it, stepping back simply in a sign of respect. 

 

“And I am Elias. Just Elias,” he echoed her sentiment, the hazel of his eyes steady on hers. She returned his smile, this time entirely genuine and opened her mouth to offer her assistance in his finding their relatives but was cut off by the side door bursting open to reveal her grandfather, Prosper Dedalus. Elias looked glad to have taken that step back though Belle wished he had managed to escape a fair bit more. They were alone, in a usually deserted room, and she was sure to look a mess. Strangely though, Prosper smiled at them both, a look Belle barely managed to recognize. 

 

“Ah, there you are children. We’ve been looking for you. We’re gathering in the formal parlour for tea. If you’d join me Elias, we shall take our leave. Give Isobel time to make herself-” he paused there, the more familiar sneer of distaste fighting to take his lips as Elias dutifully crossed towards him and at a nod past him into the hall.

 

“More presentable,” he finished quietly a very clear order given with the flash of his Dedalus eyes before sweeping out of the room after Elias.  Isobel stood frozen, only for a second. Grandfather was always rather… disagreeable, constantly scrutinizing her appearance. But that glance, his typical one over and orders to fix the wrongs he spotted seemed colder today, at odds with how charmingly he had greeted her and Elias together. What caused his turn from the warmth to the chill? 

 

“Mum’s dress,” Belle breathed out slowly. Her mother’s dress, worn at her party, possibly the last time either of her grandparents had seen their heir. Pieces kept falling into place, pieces that agreed with Black’s accusations. 

 

Belle shook these thoughts off. Marion Selwyn always said you can find anything you want to find if you examine anything too closely. A family saying, she always blushingly explained afterwards. Belle was simply becoming paranoid. Due to the heat most likely, the spare time she had to think due to the summer’s heat. But right now was not the time to become caught up in her fancies. Grandfather requested her presence. For tea with their callers. With Elias. She hurried from the room. 

  


 

  


 

“Here she is!” Catharina-Amalia exclaimed charmingly as Belle entered the parlour. She was seated on the couch next to a younger woman with dark blond curls and almond shaped toffee colored eyes. Elias’ mother, Belle could only assume. Elias was across the low table from them on the settee. 

 

“You’re just in time to pour the tea, if you would please Isobel,” her grandmother nodded slightly towards the tray on the table. Belle was taken back for a second. That would be her grandmother’s duty as the hostess and a very important one at that. She had been taught since a young age how to properly serve tea and had done so when playing hostess, but only when having tea with the other girls of her age. Her doing so today was important, signifying something. 

 

“Of course, Grandmother,” she answered dutifully after only a second. She glanced around, unaware of where she should sit. Her grandfather’s chair remained empty but so was the settee, next to Elias. Was sitting so close to him, uninvited, inappropriate? It was the best position for her to serve the tea however. Prosper appeared out of the shadows of the room and stood next to his chair. 

 

“Mrs. Greengrass, I’m not sure if we’ve had the pleasure of introducing our granddaughter before,” he put in smoothly, holding out his hand towards Belle. That was very strange as well. Delicately she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her around the table. 

 

“Oh I’m terribly sorry, dear. Isobel please say hello to Jocasta Greengrass,” Belle put on her sweetest smile and took another step forward, released by her grandfather. She bent lithely and kissed the woman’s cheeks. When she pulled back she was startled to see a beautiful smile light up the woman’s young face and even more so by the thin lines at the corners of her eyes. Jocasta grasped Belle’s hand in both of hers. 

 

“It is indeed a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Isobel. I have heard many speak of your beauty and manners and I am delighted to see for myself that they are no exaggeration,” she said in a soft voice that was filled with warmth. Belle immediately took a liking to this woman, who seemed so different from their usual guests. 

 

“The pleasure is mine Mrs. Greengrass. It is wonderful to have you and your son visit us today,” she responded with equal warmth. Jocasta chuckled lightly.

 

“I hear you and Elias have already become acquainted,” she replied with what Belle could almost describe as a grin. Belle felt a slight blush creep to her face. 

 

“I do apologize again for startling you, Ms. Dedalus,” Elias interrupted from behind her, the creak of the settee announcing his standing. Belle lightly stepped past Mrs. Greengrass in order to face Elias without turning her back on his mother. 

 

“Think nothing of it. It was lucky you wondered into me or we might still be searching for you,” she said with a smile. Mrs. Greengrass laughed gaily, and Belle’s grandparents followed suit. Surprisingly it only sounded slightly forced. 

 

“Well now, I think we shall begin. Belle?” her grandfather asked, taking his chair. Well that answered the question of where she was supposed to sit. Elias stepped back to let her pass and waited till she sat gingerly on the edge of the settee before taking a seat of his own. 

 

Taking one of the porcelain cups, she smiled into Mrs. Greengrass’ eyes and calmly asked the woman how she took her tea. 

 

  


 

Belle stepped out of the bath and pulling on her robe, walked out of the bathroom to sit at her vanity. She slowly started the process of rubbing in the various creams and potions, humming as she thought through how tea had gone, and how her hand still tingled when remembering Elias’ goodbye. Her smiled broadened at the thought of returning to school, where he would take back his place in Slytherin house. Like many other families, the Jocasta and her husband had decided to have Elias go abroad for school, withdrawing him from Hogwarts after fourth year. Belle could hardly believe she didn’t remember him though. 

 

Belle pointed her wand at her hair and let the hot air dry it as she continued to think of thick curls and sparkling eyes. It was only when she looked into her mirror and saw the tangled cascades of red curls did those eyes become grey in her mind. Angrily she turned from the mirror. There was a knock on her door and her grandmother entered, still dressed from entertaining. 

 

“Ah good, you’re still awake,” she nodded to herself pleased, before sweeping into the room she usually avoided and folded her skirts around her as she took a seat. “Your grandfather and I were very pleased with how well you handled yourself during tea today. I have no doubt you left a favorable impression on Jocasta and her son.”

 

“I did like Mrs. Greengrass very much. I’m delighted at the idea of seeing their family at other gatherings this year,” she answered warmly, for once not having to feign excitement over this sentiment. Her grandmother nodded almost serenely. 

 

“And about attending school with Elias this fall? Are you delighted at that prospect as well?” Catharina-Amalia asked studying her face so intently Belle was taken aback. 

 

“Of course I will make sure to introduce or reintroduce him as it were, to all the right people and make sure the circle takes him in, just as I promised Mrs. Greengrass, Grandmother. I’m sure he and Theodore will get along quite well,” she replied after a moment of hesitation.

 

“I’m certain you will Isobel, you are a wonderful hostess,” Isobel opened her mouth to thank her but was cut short. “ But I’m asking about your personal feelings towards the boy, not the duty you feel towards his mother, though being in her graces is helpful as well,” 

 

Belle blinked at her grandmother. Things were starting to fall into place. Why Grandfather had seemed so pleased to find her with Elias this morning, regardless of the circumstances. Why Grandmother had asked her to pour tea, why the only empty seat had been next to Elias. Even why they had had them over for tea, a woman and her pure, pure blood son. 

 

“You’re looking at Elias to be the next of my betrothed aren’t you?” she managed to squeak out, for once not appalled at her inability to hold it together. 

 

“Your coming of age is only six months away my dear. We are of course looking at possible matches for you. You are-” 

 

“The last Dedalus heir,” Isobel cut of her grandmother spitefully. Catharina-Amalia’s eyes widened out of the shock of her action and then narrowed. 

 

“You are our granddaughter and a pure blood heir besides. It is important that we find you an appropriate match before…” her grandmother trailed off into thought, obviously, at least to Belle, trying to find an appropriate reason and not the one Belle suspected was the truth. 

 

“Before I find my own match? An inappropriate one maybe?” She asked delicately, turning back towards the mirror and pretending to organize the potions on the mirrored surface. 

 

“I…I beg your pardon Isobel?” her grandmother’s voice made her look up, to see the shocked and pale face in the mirror. Her heartbeat sped up. All her questions, the burning in her stomach she had grown accustomed to after her and Black’s conversation last June. Was she about to uncover the truth?  Her grandmother straightened. 

 

“You understand how important it is to find an acceptable match. We are of the oldest and purest blood in the country. There are limited options for your next betrothal-” her grandmother stopped when she realized the phrase she had just repeated. Belle barely recognized it as her own, having not realized that she had slipped up earlier in her shock.

 

“Yes, my next betrothal. I was previously promised to Sirius Black. Am I incorrect?” Belle waited with baited breath, shocked at her own bravery, or insolence as it was probably seen. Her blood purity had once again been confirmed or lied about. She had no way of knowing, but maybe, just maybe she could find out still. Her grandmother took a breath and stood.

 

“At one point, Wulberga Black and I had discussed matching you with her eldest, the one whose now disowned I understand." Catharina-Amalia finally said, stiffly, making it clear this was something she did not wish to discuss, now or possibly ever. But Belle couldn’t let it go, not yet. 

 

"What changed? His family's purity or ours?" she asked quietly, still watching her grandmother’s face in the mirror, afraid that if she turned around she would break apart the moment and never have an answer. 

 

"I beg your pardon Isobel" her grandmother said, her voice formal, cold, the emotions shutting off with every second gone by. 

 

"Did it break off when Andromeda Black ran off-" Isobel tried to rush the sentence, to just ask if it was due to her mother’s running off, to put it in the same place with Andromeda, but she couldn’t. 

 

"Well it hardly seemed proper then, with their blood line so tainted. But no, it was when the heir was sorted into that house" and Catharina-Amalia swept off leaving the other half of Belle’s clarification murdered on her tongue. 

 

Was it because of another runaway, and another tainted bloodline? It was all so dependent on a time line. Was the betrothal broken off at the beginning of her first year with the word Gryffindor or at the end when Sirius overheard the conversation that started this all. Time lines and bloodlines, that is what everything came down to. When did it end and who ended it, a Black or a Dedalus? Grandmother or Walburga? Or was it Sirius like reasoned, or Andromeda. Or was it her? Her tainted blood. 

 

Belle knew that tonight she would not be able to shake these thoughts. She knew no way to confirm her father’s identity or what Sirius, and now she too, no matter how she had fought it, suspected. But she realized the only reason she had been able to fend off the doubts for so long, against so much evidence was due to the fact that she could not imagine it. Try as she might, she could not picture the girl in that white lace dress, smiling coyly over her shoulder at a ball, Elyse, her mother, a pure blood heir like herself, like Narcissa or Natalia or Marion running off with… with a mudblood. She could not understand why anyone would or could. It was unimaginable, unheard of. 

 

Well she realized, not entirely unheard of. There was only one woman alive who could honestly and completely explain it to her. All she had to do was find her. 

 

“Impsy! Impsy come this instant!” Belle called, clearing her hoarse, haunted voice. When the elf cracked in, Belle stifled her jump and whirled, cutting off the high-pitched greeting.

  


“I need to make a visit. Fetch me my darkest robes and travel cloak. And tell no one, especially the mistress, of this,” Impsy hurried off, squeaking out promises and nonsense chatter. Isobel turned towards the mirror and studied her reflection. Reaching for the various potions and cosmetics she decided to leave her hair as it was. 

 

 

 

 


End file.
